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by darkwood



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Post Op
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:41:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkwood/pseuds/darkwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of the day, here they were.</p>
<p>Here they still were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

At the end of the day, here they were.

Here they _still_ were.

Claire eased herself down onto the bed, trying not to agitate the bruising to her ribs. Leon didn't seem to worry about treating his injuries gently. He flopped down on the other side of the mattress behind her, rocking the cheap thing and the polyester bead spread.

"Don't lay down," Claire cautioned him, "we have to get this comforter off."

"If there are bedbugs that are willing to hitchhike on us with the way we smell," Leon replied in a wry, weary voice, "then maybe we deserve them."

Claire grunted. If she didn't feel like she needed to bleach herself to get clean, she'd appreciate his joke, really she would. But just now she wanted to dunk herself in a tub full of disinfectant with a steel wool loufa. There were bruises on some of her bruises, and she was never gladder that she'd broken herself of the habit of chewing her thumbnail as she was just now with who knows what in her cuticles and in the crack in it.

"Hey, red," Leon said, one hand moving over to find her hip. His fingers - still in his singed, filthy tactical gloves - curled into her belt loop and he tugged. Even flat on his back and exhausted he was strong enough and stubborn enough to tug her the two feet over to him. He gave a grunt of his own and turned on his side, pressing his face against the small of her back where her t-shirt rode up.

His stubble tickled, which was unexpectedly wonderful.

She'd forgotten what tickling felt like, and surprised herself when she chuckled.

"We lived," Claire said, letting a hand sink down to the hand on her waist.

Leon nodded against her, lips pressing against her skin. The motion of his head brushed soft hair against her, and that was wonderful too.

Because even monster guts couldn't make Leon's impossible hair anything but baby soft.

"So I was thinking," he said, fiendish stubble rubbing against her back as he spoke right into her spine, "that after the coma wears off-"

It was going to be a glorious coma, too. Claire couldn't even remember what day it was, or what time it was, and that was sort of pathetic because there was sun outside the windows and that meant it was daytime, right?

"Hey, are you listening?"

"Yes," she replied, because she had no idea if he knew she'd wandered of into her thoughts or if he was just so drunk on being tired that he lost track of his.

"After this coma we're about to sleep, we should take a vacation."

"You and I are shit at vacations," Claire replied as a warm arm slid around her waist and tugged. She hissed in pain and grunted out, "Ribs."

"Then lay down like you're supposed to and I won't have to manhandle you."

"Holster," Claire replied. "And I really ought to shower. I feel gross."

"You're perfect," Leon said, tugging again. "I'll take all the uncomfortable shit off if you come down here."

"Is that what you tell all the girls?" Claire snorted, but leaned down anyway, glad to be horizontal, glad of the pair of arms that wound their way around her as she stretched out beside him on the shitty bedspread and the shitty mattress.

"Only the ones I take home," Leon said, speaking right into her ear in a low voice as he helped her shrug out of her shoulder holster. "The ones I cook breakfast for."

Conscious enough to know there was at least a bullet in each of those holstered guns, Claire sat up enough to get the dangly holster off the bed, setting it all on the floor. "When have you ever cooked breakfast?"

"After this coma," Leon said firmly, as though it had already happened.

"Suuure," Claire replied, rolling back close. "Is that code for: I'll grab you a croissant from the continental?"

"It's code for we'll take a vacation that involves a very mundane loft," Leon said, kissing her neck, "and I will cook you breakfast. I am really good at cooking breakfast."

"There's usually a reason men are good at breakfast."

"It's easy?"

Claire chuckled at that, and carefully got her arm up and around him in return. Leon shifted until she got comfortable and then turned into a nice warm rock to lay against.

There wasn't a sturdy front door or a picket fence with a spray of magazine-cover flowers. There weren't perimeter lights, and there was no shotgun tucked under the bed in easy reach. But there was him and there was her, and there were five guns for four hands.

This wasn't home like most people would think of it, but as the nice warm rock gave her a gentle squeeze, Claire knew she wouldn't want it any other way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Even if they did occasionally smell too repulsive for bedbugs.


End file.
